


Blind Spot

by the_parallax_of_rain



Series: And Yet Here We Are [2]
Category: Better Call Saul (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Romance, Character Study, Confessions, Implied/Referenced Blow Jobs, M/M, Sexual Tension, Surprise Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:47:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24146104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_parallax_of_rain/pseuds/the_parallax_of_rain
Summary: He puts a hand on Lalo’s chest to stop him, and Lalo cocks an eyebrow questioningly. “Wait. I mean…right in front of them?” Nacho sputters, pointing out the two horses standing at the edge of the hill, silhouetted against the heavens. Lalo grins in response. “What, you nervous?”In trying to say goodbye to Lalo, Nacho finds himself going about everything the wrong way.
Relationships: Eduardo "Lalo" Salamanca/Ignacio "Nacho" Varga
Series: And Yet Here We Are [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1738741
Comments: 2
Kudos: 33





	Blind Spot

**Author's Note:**

> My piece “Kindred Spirits” was supposed to be a one-shot, but now this is the entirely self-indulgent AU series where Nacho goes “fuck Gus” and chooses a different path than what’s provided to him. And, to be honest, I also kind of wanted to write more with Lalo’s horses :) If you haven’t read the first story, then their names won’t make sense but that's just about it. Hope you enjoy!

“You knew the game and played it

It kills to know that you have been defeated”

~ Wires, The Neighborhood

* * *

Nacho surprises both himself and Lalo when he asks if they could take the horses out for a ride.

“Of course! I would never say no to spending time with them. Or you, for that matter,” Lalo responds with a suggestive wink and leaves to fetch one of his other horses, scattering his workers back to their posts with a half-hearted wave, and whistling a cheerful melody that does little to dissipate the suffocating inevitability of this household’s demise. Nacho guides Fortuna to a stop beside the back gate. The mare shifts her weight slightly in anticipation of their outing, and Nacho senses her excitement with a pang.

There are numerous trails sprawling in the wilderness behind Lalo’s estate. Nacho chooses one that curves along the side of a gently sloped hill and looks to be fairly well-maintained; as Fortuna begins to pick her way along the narrow path, he hears Lalo coaxing Cigarillo to follow behind them. The trail takes them up all the way to the top of the hill, and once they’re over the edge, Lalo dismounts and busies himself with tying the horses to a nearby post. Nacho glances at his phone surreptitiously, and the mockingly bright screen tells him it’s 7:32 PM.

He’s certainly getting very good at mental calculations of time.

“So Ignacio, why are we out here right now?” Lalo asks, his voice colored with amusement. Nacho slides off of Fortuna’s back, and surveys their surroundings. The hilltop is dusted with sand and grass, and there’s a cluster of rocks near the center surrounding what appears to be the remains of a fire. His gaze wanders towards the vast sky, in the process of bruising from orange to purple, not quite dark but still glittering with the promise of stars.

“It’s nice out here,” he answers mostly truthfully.

 _“Sí.”_ Lalo gestures toward the makeshift fireplace. “I sometimes come up here to think. It might surprise you to learn that I quite enjoy being alone at times.” Before Nacho can register it, Lalo has grabbed his arm and is pulling him towards the rocks, waving a flask in his other hand that he has whipped out of nowhere. “Come Ignacio, we should celebrate after all that has happened today!”

Celebrate? Nacho really must be cursed. Without thinking, he swipes the flask from Lalo and takes a swig. His senses grow hazy either from the alcohol or the other man’s laugh.

* * *

The sky gradually darkens completely. Nacho sits cross-legged in the dirt facing Lalo, who’s perched atop one of the rocks. The fire next to them throws light across the angles of Lalo’s face, accentuating his every expression. Nacho’s breath hitches as he stares at the incendiary glow in the man’s eyes – and he blames it on the pleasant buzz coursing through his system, with both of them having shared the rest of the flask’s contents. 

Once again, they have started discussing business. “You did good today, you know?” Lalo says, nudging Nacho’s boot with his own playfully. “Don Eladio was impressed with you.”

“I’m glad,” Nacho replies, hoping his resignation does not sound too apparent. “So, what’s next?”

“Well, in a few days time you’ll return to Albuquerque and take over operations there.” Lalo evaluates him carefully. “Might even have you remain in charge once Tuco gets out. Like I said, we need someone steady right now, right?”

Nacho is saved from a response when the wind picks up and sends the fire roaring unexpectedly, and suddenly Lalo flinches. “ _Mierda_ ,” he hisses, batting at the flames consuming his sleeve. Even in the darkness, Nacho can see the crispy black patch that remains afterwards. “There goes that shirt,” Lalo sighs, faintly annoyed. 

“Shit,” Nacho can only say dumbly. He reaches for Lalo’s hand and turns it so that his palm is facing upwards, imagining the blisters that will inevitably form over the creases there. “Should we head back?” Somehow Lalo doesn’t strike him as someone who would keep a First-Aid kit lying around.

“Nah, I’ve been through a lot worse.” Lalo flexes his fingers but makes no move to tug himself free from Nacho. “No harm done. So, as we were saying. Albuquerque.”

Lalo continues talking, but his words slip right by Nacho. He is used to living under stress – he’s been used to it for years. You can’t really succeed in the pressure cooker of Albuquerque without being able to thrive on anxiety. And still, even with all his practice, he finds himself molded by his emotions in ways he can’t predict. His discomfort with parting ways, his uncertainty about his and his father’s future, his dread at thinking about returning home in the wake of a massacre – he’s engulfed by it all with no way to release the steam. 

Something snaps between them just then and knocks Nacho off balance, and he moves first, surging towards Lalo. Their lips crash together and the momentum of the collision tips them like a cresting wave over the rock Lalo is perched upon. They hit the dirt in a tangle of limbs and somehow Lalo’s hands find their way upwards to frame Nacho’s face before the sharpness of his own audacity hits Nacho and makes him break away.

“Well, that came out of nowhere,” Lalo remarks smugly from beneath him. “Is this your goodbye present to me, Ignacio?” Stomach churning, Nacho replies with a quick “maybe”. But what he really wants to say is that he has forgotten what it feels like to have someone in his corner – someone who wants to be there.

He feels Lalo shift, then lets out a soft gasp when he is flipped onto the ground, sprawled underneath Lalo, the heat from the fire twisting around them both. Lalo reaches down to undo Nacho’s jeans, and suddenly he has a sense of foreboding. He’s never really had sexual encounters with men before – there had been that one time with Domingo in high school, but they had both been drunk and when they woke up next to each other on the hardwood floor of some random kid’s bedroom, the sounds of last night’s party still ringing in their ears, he had sworn his friend to secrecy regarding whatever the fuck they thought might have happened between them.

Plus, as the nagging voice in his head has been chiming repeatedly since that morning, there is still the fucking minor problem of an impending assassination to think about.

He puts a hand on Lalo’s chest to stop him, and Lalo cocks an eyebrow questioningly. “Wait. I mean…right in front of them?” Nacho sputters, pointing out the two horses standing at the edge of the hill, silhouetted against the heavens. 

Lalo grins in response. “What, you nervous?” He then leans down close to Nacho’s ear, and the heat from his whisper sends shivers across Nacho’s skin. “You know, on account of their eyes being on the sides of their heads, horses have a blind spot right here.” He taps lightly on the bridge of Nacho’s nose. “They can’t see what’s right in front of them. If you know what I mean.” On cue, one of the horses gives a snort, as if in disbelief. 

Nacho can’t help himself. The laugh bursts forth from his throat and he turns his head to the side to avoid having to look at Lalo. He inhales a bit of sand in his giddy, and coughs out, “Something’s wrong with you.”

“You don’t know the half of it, _mi cariño,”_ Lalo croons back at him, and the retort is barely forming in Nacho’s throat before Lalo smothers it completely. Nacho feels his breath leave his lungs as he drowns within the soul-consuming kiss that sends stars skittering across his closed eyelids. Just as he is about to become enveloped completely, Lalo pulls away and Nacho is left grasping at emptiness. 

“Get up, sit on that rock.” Lalo drags him to his feet and pushes him towards the rock that he had previously vacated. Nacho lowers himself onto the smooth, sandy surface and watches Lalo approach him. When the other man gets down on his knees in front of him and reaches toward Nacho’s belt, an odd mixture of anticipation and fear curdles within him.

He knows what Lalo is capable of. He’s witnessed firsthand the ripple effect of destruction that Lalo leaves in his wake, whether it’s ordering the burning of Fring’s restaurant from within his jail cell or killing an innocent TravelWire employee that led to a $7 million fiasco and their rapid escape south of the border. He can see the concealed challenge that lurks behind Lalo’s eyes, an ever-present threat that Nacho has no wish to watch unleashed. And yet as perceptive and self-aware as the man is, Nacho has always been his blind spot.

A dam can only hold back so much water before it breaks, and Nacho can feel his own resolve beginning to crack. Here, in this open hilltop underneath that dark canvas of stars, in this secluded slice of existence where for the moment they’re the only ones that matter, deception seems to evaporate. With a jolt, Nacho realizes he does not want to see Lalo – and the rest of his family – gunned down in their own home as a result of _him_ , the final piece that has the honor of being bestowed with the winning move.

 _What’s the plan here then, genius?_ He is going in without any guidance, without any orders breathed down the nape of his neck. He has Lalo kneeling on the ground before him, unsheathing him, prepared to worship whatever holy mess Ignacio Varga has become. Lalo’s so close that he can practically count every single strand of silver curled into the man’s dark hair. In another time, he would have never dared to get this close to a Salamanca. And yet somehow, he has this one emotionally compromised.

If he had wanted to, he could end everything right now. But his longing for kindness and safety has come to be synonymous with lust, in the most fucked up twist that he never saw coming. No, this is uncharted territory, and Nacho stands right at the precipice. Waiting to jump.

“Lalo,” he begins, brushing his fingers against the other man’s wrist to stop him. Lalo glances up at him almost tenderly, the shadows from the flames flickering across his face and making it seem like he’s already half-gone. Nacho’s voice trembles despite his best efforts to disguise it. “There’s something you should know.”

Lalo rocks back slightly onto his heels. His arms graze Nacho’s bare thighs. “You don’t want this, Ignacio?” There’s a thin layer of hurt in his voice.

Of course, there is still time to back out of this decision. He could just keep his mouth shut and let Lalo give him what might be the most exquisite blowjob of his life. He briefly considers that he could even wait until they get back and just take out the assassins when everyone is asleep. It would be so much easier if he continues misleading, continues operating underneath this suffocating web laid over them all. 

But Nacho remembers letting Fortuna’s reins slip through his fingers, giving her what looked like freedom but what he now knows is just the illusion of control. There’s always been someone reining him in, telling him his fate but keeping him in the dark otherwise. Toying with him and tangling his affairs and thoughts as if he’s a puppet, held up by strings. He could never, never do that to someone else. Not to the house full of innocent people at the foot of the hill. Not to his father making an honest living back in New Mexico. Not to the man crouched in front of him with his fingers hooked over the waistband of Nacho’s jeans and doing his best impression of a kicked puppy.

 _I see you,_ he had assured Nacho earlier that day, openly, confidently.

“I just – ” Nacho’s throat dries up. His words come out muffled, as if he’s hearing himself from far away, in a dream. “Maybe later. I just need to tell you something. About tonight.”

Lalo holds his hands up in defeat. “Okay then, if it’s that important to you. I’m gonna need you to put your pants back on though. Don’t want to be distracted.” With a smirk, Lalo pretends to avert his eyes as Nacho hastily pulls his jeans back up. He ignores that brief twinge of longing or lust that comes unbidden, and steels himself for what is about to happen. What he’s about to do.

“It would be best if – if you withhold your judgement until I’m done.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope the premise behind this is at least slightly believable. Also, their fallout will have more communication and less violence than what season 6 is shaping up to feature because I can't deal with that…I swear I will find a way to make this a fix-it :’)


End file.
